


Slip Out (of My Mouth)

by Shatteeran



Series: Don't Ever Run Away (But Let Me Go) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Did I tag Angst?, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Just... not at the end?, M/M, Niall-centric, Pining, Self-Denial, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, So much pining this fic should be tagged environmental-friendly, maybe? - Freeform, obviously, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatteeran/pseuds/Shatteeran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's mic suddenly becomes defectuous during his Little Things solo. Louis helps out. And now the blonde can't stop thinking about it...</p>
<p>Or the one where Niall flirts with Zayn, cuddles with Harry, holds hands with Liam but still gets to freak out about his crush for Louis.<br/>M for language.<br/>Non-consistent timeline (I use events, venues and songs in the order that befit my story most).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue – Promise of a Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom. I'm gonna try and go with a weekly update maybe twice if you're good. :)
> 
> I decided to write non-linear thoughts for Niall. Thought it suited somehow.  
> Please let me know what you think of the story, the writing, your day, everything!! ;-)
> 
> Enjoy the story!

I guess I thought I was promised a happy ending.

Niall adjusts his beanie on his head before stepping out, feels like shit anyways, whatever. He doesn’t think anyone ever lied to him about the hardships of being famous, shrugs the idea away as he slips his jacket on because England. Lists all the people he met since they finally called his name at the Judges House. Simon… never mentioned any of this, just had to be in the same room with the boys band and they all felt it, how hard they had to work to breathe the same air, how much harder they would have to work to deserve it... Management… basically told them they would not get to choose whom they would fall in love with until they write their own songs… Katy… never sung anything on the topic.

But then again, she was supposed to be the happy type. Much like Niall, he scoffs. Pulls out his phone out of his pocket to count the exclamation points at the back of Liam’s texts. No way out this time. No way out. Texts I’m on my way. Wonders briefly what would be worse. Daddy Direction’s pitiful face as he enters Nando’s. Or his trademark I told you so glare. Pictures a rather strange-looking mix of the two. Niall’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Doesn’t smile much these days.

Li: Intervention meeting started 23 minutes ago!!!!

Niall ignores him. On second thought, he reckons he did meet a friend who warned him about the humiliation and the pain. But Ed won’t talk to him anymore. And Ed hadn’t known before, hadn’t learnt the lesson. Before Ellie. Before Niall. Karma’s a bitch. He tweets about Liam’s tyrannical habits, gets a frowny emote from him for his effort. And immediately after a second vibration almost jerks the phone out of his hand.

Hazza: Lis eatin ur feelings. No food 4 U if u r not here in 15 min

Phone back in his jeans, Niall checks his reflection one last time, sets his sunglasses on his nose. Sure, he looks the part. One Direction barely slips now, they have all grown up in the suits management prepared for them six years ago. It’s all alright, really. The fame, the money, the tours. The freedom they gain after each album release, both on-stage and off-screen. Somehow all still kids begging for permissions. Nah, the blonde would never have believed Ed a year – make that six months – ago.  
Had no reason, too.  
He procrastinates some more. Leaving now.

Zayniiiie: Payno says he declines all responsibility if you choke on chicken.

Niall thinks, who would get the check, then? Thinks better of making them aware how much he has thought of letting go. Given their contracts, schedules, the crazy of their five deeply intertwined lives, Niall was not supposed to live through any of this before… at least a couple of years. If that makes sense. The Irish finally fumbles with his keys to unlock his flat door, adds Taylor to his mental list of somewhat friends with insights on heartbreaks. How to live with them when you just cannot… catch a break. His chuckle doesn’t pass his lips. Hasn’t in weeks either. Niall doesn’t think anyone – much himself – remembers what his laugh actually sounds like, opens the door. Is there anyone to miss it?, is the question. Was there ever? Get a grip, Horan.  
Opens the door and steps out into the cold sun. The light is dry and almost too bright. So. Not a typical day for London, either, then. Deep down, Niall confesses he has it as close as possible of a happy ending. Just… no one seemed to have foreseen he’d fall for a bandmate.


	2. Chapter 1 – Peanut Butter to my Jam

10 months earlier

They never talk about it, are used to the tense atmosphere before the shows by now. Liam’s away, hiding in a closet. Rehearsing the whole performance in his head, he is. Makes him smile just to picture him, pulling at his hair. Niall’s the only one he lets in. But the blonde only ever goes if he hears whimpering. Nope, Li sounds like he’s on top of things.  
Harry enters what serves as the living area. Running around almost naked, yelling, of couse. Behind Tommo, of course. Who’s being a louder, more obnoxious arsehole than ever. Niall can’t help but let escape one of his famous belly laugh. Feels a little guilty but knows from Zayn’s irregular breathing on the couch that he’s not sleeping. So like him, to emulate peace to remain calm.  
Niall would join the chase, he would. Leave the kitchen behind. But there’s a peanut butter – Nutella sandwich with his name on it. He rarely has the kitchen corner all to himself, though it’s the first space he claimed before his bunk and -… well, apparently, said sandwich also has Louis’ name on it. Because the wanker just took a bite as he passed around the counter.  
Niall doesn’t share his food. He doesn’t.

Harry has stopped chasing the other lad. Zayn has his eyes opened. And Niall’s not sure how to react. They’ve never talked about it, barely mentioned it during the interviews. Niall’s still gaping. Even Lou looks slightly concerned now. They all have their own way of letting the pressure out. Never once they crossed one another’s boundaries while doing it. In four years of time.  
Niall doesn’t share his food. He bites at his sandwich and chews open-mouthed. Mine, dammit! Harry is failing at hiding his chuckle behind his hand and Zayn is peeving, still. Niall knows the situation is joke-material. Obviously. But he can’t quite go over the aggression. And then Louis launches his arm around Niall’s shoulder with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I know, I know. Sorry, Ni. But you were looking like you were making love to your food again. Hair mussed, sinful lips and heavy-lidded eyes and stuff. I just had to have a taste.”

Niall flushes. Knows it from the burn on his ears. Knows it is already spreading from his cheeks to his neck to his chest where his tank-top cannot completely mask the new redness of his skin. And the oldest member of the band steals yet another mouthful of his treat. Fakes fucking orgasm sounds. The wanker.   
Harry bursts out laughing. Zayn closes his eyes.

“You are DEAD, Tomlinson! I will get back these pieces from your dead body!”

And Louis resumes his race in the bus, shouting louder than ever. And Niall starts right after him. Tries to catch his breath between his war cry and the full-on laugh he cannot contain anymore. And the Irish kid just loves this. How they all fit together. On the periphery of his vision, he sees Harry going to sit next to Zayn, content to watch someone else pursuing the lad. Their moral support… who yet systematically turns into an annoying brat before each of their public appearances.

“Sure you don’t want to help him, Haz? Leprechaun, here, appears to be tired! Holding up, short st..ourf!”

The rest of the taunting is covered by the noise of their fall as Niall collides into Louis. They end up in the hallway behind the beds.

“You can’t say you didn’t deserve it”, Zayn’s musical voice chimes in.

And Niall just loves this. How they easily fit together, the five of them. Have from day one. Through thick and thin. He straddles Louis to prevent him from standing back up. Secures his knees around his petite waist.

“Are you taking the piss, mate?”, Louis shouts back. “I’d do anything for a bite of that chocolate and peanut sweetness and would gladly plead guilty for another bite.”

He looks up at Niall, then, face all flushed and eyes bright with laughter despite the darkness of the bedroom. Niall wonders why they never bother to open the curtains. Probably isn’t best for feng-shui or something. Under him, the Doncaster boy’s breathing is ragged and uneven, but he doesn’t try to get away. Is waiting for Niall’s next move. Well…

“Should have said so, Boo-Bear”, he smirks at Louis’ wince at his childhood name. “If all you really wanted was another lick, you only had to ask.”  
“I specifically remember not saying ‘lick’, but…”  
Niall methodically splits his sandwich in two. The grin in his face turns dangerous.  
“You wouldn’t dare, Horan!”

Oh yes, he would. He very much would. Niall smears the two parts of the sandwich on Louis’ cheeks. Before fleeing back to the living room and flopping between Zayn and Harry. They never talk about it, so Niall wonders if it feels as right for them. If they sometimes also feel like they could burst with all the joy the four others bring in his life. How full his days, his life, his heart feel just by having them around. He chuckles. Harry bumps his shoulder, Zayn flicks his ear. He just laughs louder.  
When Louis joins them in the main room, a piece of bread still glued to his face, the tweet is already out.

Niall_Horan_Official is hungry for @Louis_Tomlinson

They grin at each other when Liam’s muffled laugh reach them from the closet.

Somehow, but they always do, they end up perfectly relaxed for show time. Whatever anxiety they may have while they are getting ready disappears the second they are on stage and singing to their screaming fans. Niall has a blast. Can’t never get enough of it. And suddenly it’s his moment. Niall’s used to it by now, knows it’s the one time during the concert when all eyes are zeroed in on his face. Might bawl again. How they sound, singing his words back to him.

You’ve never loved yourself…

Niall is the less talented of the boys band. Made obvious as he gets less and less solos, the years passing. He strums his guitar. Something’s wrong.

…half as much…

Something’s off. His mic’s off. Why now? It was fine ten minutes ago. Coincidence? I think not. Niall’s eyes widen. He puts on his best poker face. And wow, thanks lower lip for the useless quivers. He’s missing it. Concert’s all ruined now. Niall is not even certain he will be able to finish the song. Maybe…

…as I.…

Call it Irish luck, or something! Louis is sitting right next to him. He is supposed to be on the other side of the scene, while Liam usually sits upstairs from Niall, a few steps above. But Louis is sitting right next to him. And Louis just hands his microphone for the blonde to sing, a smirk on his face. Go get ‘em, Nialler! So when he utters: 

…love you.

Feedback, finally. Niall’s face breaks into a blinding smile to match Louis’ expression. Lou’s fucking brilliant! 

And you never treat yourself right, darling  
But I want you to.

It’s hard not to think about the oldest while they finish the song after that. He stares into his blue eyes. Finds all the encouragement he needs there. The lad’s pride. Niall’s smiles even wider. They shrug in sync. We have no clue what happened either. Just like you, carefree mofos. Cheers get louder. And Louis’ back to singing to them. But Niall’s thoughts remain on the brunette’s extended arm. It fits the song, somehow. How the gesture will never mean nothing to Louis and the world to him. How he’ll push it off as just a little thing. Niall feels warm all over, recognizes the high as the adrenaline takes him over. Reckons it’s the rush of the show finally kicking in after his almost utter failure. Just one more of these little things that Louis never forgets to do in the name of protecting them, leading them. 

He is still somewhat thinking about it later while he leans against one of the doorframes of the bar, a goofy expression eating at his face. Feels warm and content all over as he watches Haz grinding against every human being who finds themselves lucky to get close enough without being slapped by his hair. On the left side of the room, Liam tries to crawl on the counter to offer an off version of “Story Of My Life” to exasperated bartenders. Niall guffaws. The club is packed. Seems like it. Maybe he’s seeing double. Probably is.

“So. How smashed are you, mate?”

Zayniiiiiie. The Irish wants to hug him, catches his shoulder in a half-embrace. The Pakistani almost seems un-phased. The show, the fans, the party. Nothing’ll make him lose his cool. Niall imagines slurring his last thought out loud. Giggles. This is perfect... Yeah, almost un-phased; but Z’s dark eyes are somehow shining. Looks flushed, too. Niall wonders how he looks like, buzzing with how happy he feels.

“M’Irish, mate. We live on a totr… totalr… totally different scrale !”  
“You sure sound like it.”

Two patrons are eyeing them, he realizes. Must have yelled. Fails to hide another fit of laughter and brushes his hand in his hair when he comes back from it. He know his smile never leaves his face. It hits him like a train, then. I have to thank the one who put it there. Actually, he needs to. Barely had time to chat since they finished performing.

“Where’s Lou?”

Zayn looks at him weird, now. Expression on his features way too deep for the situation. Like you know something I don’t. Probably does, too. Just one of the black-haired beauty simple casual look. Niall snorts and swiftly gazes back at the dance floor. Colored lights are all blending together, slowing down while the tempo only seems to get faster. Niall swims in a puddle of red rays when he recognizes the song and shouts:

“JU-JU-JUST DANCE!”

Glances back at Zayn… gonna be okay… expecting him to be long gone by now. He’s right next to him, holding Niall’s shoulders to keep him – or himself, the blonde is not too sure about balance, right this instant – steady. How long…? Red puddle is now blue-ish. …just dance... He throws himself towards the dance floor, but doesn’t really. Louis. Niall blinks a few times. His friend just nods towards the exit and the lad doesn’t know if it’s an answer to his earlier question or an advice because he obviously needs a breather. Hours have passed by the time he finally reaches the backdoor and steps outside. Probably only minutes, though, because Gaga is still vocalizing. Or this might be the longest remix ever. The Irish’s clouded thoughts clear out… rather quickly… Louis stares lovingly at the sky while bringing his smoke to his lips. Niall catches himself zeroing in. Pink, perfectly defined in the half-light… Plump… And white-grey O’s escaping. Offerings to the night the youth is wasting away.

“Fancied some air, too, Ni’?”

A shrug. The blonde cannot tear his eyes away from the brown mop of hair, locks plastered to the Doncaster lad’s forehead, glistening with sweat. He procrastinates some more, entranced by his profile, sharp nose half lit by a street light nearby. Builds up the courage to just say it. Thanks.

“Wanted to thank you for earlier…”

Louis throws him a sidelong look before exhaling again. What for? It should be easy but it’s not.

“…for, you know, for letting me sing.”

Comes out whinier than he expected. Ringing all the more true. He sounds pathetic. Shivers. Yet feeling so warm inside, slightly unpleasant. Like something burning at his core. Niall suddenly wants the celebration to be over. Tired, he thinks through the haze of alcohol. Mumbles it, maybe. His bandmate finally turns to face him, is maybe drunker than Niall initially guessed, has a hard time adjusting to really see the younger, opens his mouth… And Niall’d rather have his thanks remain unanswered than to hear what the other has to say. Formulates his next sentences by anticipation. Thoughts he will surely regrets having put into words a horrible headache and a few hours later.

“It happened to me… I know… we all participate in 1D in our own way… It’s just… I entered X to sing... and… I am still allowed to be part of this adventure for other reasons… And I can’t complain… I know. I am so lucky to have you guys… to have this… It’s like… I sing less and less… and keep smiling just to get to board that bus once more… they turn the mic off and it’s like, like… I don’t deserve to be here anymore… Like I don’t deserve any of you anymore.”

He ends his confession in a whisper. Shivers again. And another time when Lou wraps him in a hug. Suddenly doubts whether he should hug back.

“You better put these ridiculously lanky arms around me, Horan, because I just threw a most definitely not-completely smoked cigarette away for this. You better make it worth it!”

Niall chuckles and gives up then, buries his head in Louis’ neck. The oldest brushes the hair on his nape. Speaks really close to his hear.

“I did it because it’s my favourite part of one of my favourite song. No way I’m having it spoiled sung live because a twat in a control room doesn’t know how to do his job properly.”

Niall just hugs tighter.


	3. Chapter 2 - Twitter Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Posted one day in advance because I wanted to :)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos! You all know it keeps the writing interesting. I really appreciate it.  
> Message me sometimes (if you're not into commenting, which I can totally relate to). But any input or feedback on the story is welcome.  
> Or even... Hey, tell me something about your day!
> 
> See you next chapter!

It’s 3 pm when Niall finally emerges from his bunk bed, lazily scratching his belly under a loose shirt. The one with a pool ball showing off a ridiculously tongue. The blonde still smells like smoke. Of Louis.

“Morning, y’all!”, he utters, his accent thick with sleep.

Ignores the replies and goes straight to the fridge. His head is not pounding that bad. His body knows the drill by now. Magic OJ. Zayn hasn’t looked up from his sketchbook yet. Niall spares a glance at his drawing. Judging by its progress, looks like Z hasn’t been to bed at all. Niall reaches for the strawberry jam. He swears his friend has the weirdest sleeping schedule.

“’Lo, Nialler! You browsed Twitter since last night?”, Harry teases, sprawled on the couch facing the kitchen area.

Noone bothered to open the stores, Harry’s cheeks looks kinda orange in the dim light. Niall giggles. Stops his hand halfway to his pocket. Play it cool, laddie! The toaster dings. Chuckles from both the table and the pillow Harry pressed his head in. The always happy Irish man guesses his whole face lit up at the sound. He retrieves his grilled bread while half-dancing on his feet.

“Haven’t at’all, actually! What’d I miss?”, he shouts, his back to his curly-haired bandmate.

Liam most probably got up earlier than them all since his kidney still worries him and being the reasonable young man he is and all. Must be out for his daily run.

“I’d take a look if I were you, is all”, Harry replies, trying to sound mysterious.

Louis is still sleeping it off, for sure. Niall smirks. Takes his sweet time buttering his toasts. Takes a new knife when Zayn finally looks up and eyes him almost dipping it in the jam. For a couple of minutes, the bus remains completely void of words. Zayn’s pencil brushes against his sheet. The knife scratches while he generates new crumbs on its passage. Harry’s breaths through the pillow.

“Oh my god! There’s a hashtag about you.”, Harry gives in and now sits excitedly, pulling his own phone out.

The blonde laughs at Haz’s impatience. It never gets old. Ponders whether to consume his breakfast or to answer to Harry’s plea. Figures he might as well take a peak if he hopes to eat in peace. He’s still chuckling while he unlocks his Samsung. Taps the Twitter app. He doesn’t even have to scroll to see what the Cheshire lad is referring to.

“Hashtag-let-niall-sing?”, he cackles, before he nervously clicks on a vine video from last night’s concert and relives it all.

The uncertainty. The panic. The self-deprecation. The relief. None of it shows on camera, he sighs happily. He studies the intensity of his expression as video-him is staring at Louis in awe when Harry’s chin hooks over his shoulder.

“You know we love your voice, right, NiNi?”  
“Oh, I know… I know… I know… fo sho!”, Zayn sings. Loud.

Niall is full on laughing at the raven-haired boy’s imitation of his Irish accent. He swiftly closes the app. Better to read these tweets by himself in his bunk or in a hotel room. He’d rather keep some of his reactions private, thank you very much. Always make sure his boys are not around when he coos at his nephew over the phone… Theo may only know two words, but he makes the most of them… For hours…  
Despite one of his best friend’s protests, Hazza is still reading support tweets to them when Liam makes his way to join them. Not outside running. Well, the bus is moving, so that makes sense.

“Good afternoon… Zayn, Harry, Mr Horan!”, he grins. “Tweeting this early, you addicts?”  
“It’s almost 4, goofball.” Niall rolls his eyes as he attacks his second toast.

Liam nudges him with his elbow as he passes by to retrieve the mixer. For a short time, they enjoy another moment of quiet. Liam sets himself on his right to peel the veggies he intends to prepare his disgusting smoothie with. The repetitive motions add to the peaceful rhythmic noises in the room. Niall kinda wants to start drumming to the beat… until Harry giggles. 

He ignores him for a while, but the curly brunette continues to pointedly stare at his phone like it just said the joke of the year. Liam pushes the on button on the mixer, un-phased, and the vibrations momentarily cut all possibilities for a dialog. Dimples are still showing on his left, though. So the blonde pours himself a bowl of cereals with milk. Adds one spoonful of sugar… It’s not like he minds being the bottom of a joke… Another spoonful… He’s more bothered about not being in on it…. Three. He takes refuge from the chopping and mixing cacophony on the couch, feet up under his bum. 

Zayn half-heartedly shrugs his shoulders all the while managing to keep his eyes on his art when Niall throws him a questioning glance.

He would like to call Theo again, today. Greg, too, maybe his Da. They have the whole remaining of the day and the best part of the night in the bus before they arrive to their new destination tomorrow around noon. Just enough time for sound checks and makeup before their performance.

“Where are we going now?”, he wonders.

He is met with two pairs of mischievous eyes for this trouble. Harry has scooted towards Zayn while he drifted off. They’re now both looking at Haz’s phone and stifling stupid giggles. Liam has yet to look up from his green mixture, but the Irish has learnt where to look for the signs. Spots the corner of the Wolverhampton guy’s mouth twitch, even though his chocolate eyes still refuse to meet his.

“What?”, he finally dares to ask, failing to make it sound like he’s snapping.

It already rings like he’s amused or summat. Maybe he is. There’s a blush creeping up Liam’s cheeks now. And the living area feels so quiet and… orange. Niall smiles for a reason he does not yet know as he revels in his bandmates’ carelessness.

“Nothing, mister Horan.”, Harry stutters, his shoulders shuddering.  
“Don’t let us disturb you on your special day, mister Horan”, Zayn adds, shit-eating grin and all.

Liam flinches, suspectfully voiceless. Niall makes his spoon zing against his bowl before retrieving his phone, pulls up Liam’s Twitter account and… almost falls off the couch, nearly hysterical, when he reads his mate’s new account name.

“Misses Horan, Li’? Seriously?”  
“It’s just… the whole world fan-girling over you and all. Felt proper to remind ‘em that we were here first.”

Niall gets up and loudly smooches his cheek, then. Uses the opportunity to deposit the milk-soiled utensils in the sink… Feels appropriate to be cheeky.

“It is all right, really, LiLi. Now, once you’re done with the dishes, make me a sandwich, will ya? I’m hungry.”  
“Only if you sing for me, Nialler.”  
“You’re all idiots”, Niall states, fondly.  
“Okay, so first…”, Louis declaims as he enters the room, majestic despite his bed hair and droopy red eyes. He also has something that looks a lot like a hickey on his neck. Who and when did it get there…  
“My mate Niall is irremediably right: you’re all idiots. Second…”

He lets his words hang as he parades from one lad to the other, ceremoniously ruffling their hair like he’s doing them a favor.Niall snorts. No real heat behind his or the others’ annoyance, though. It’s just… who they are, yes.

“ ‘We’, obviously, was here first, as it is proper. What was ‘we’ here first for, it would please ‘us’ to know this instant. But not before and… third…”

He finally stoops in front of Niall. Who got up in anticipation of having his hair messed up with. Plants his azure eyes in Niall’s. He swallows. You never know what to expect with Lou.

“Third, yes, if we have to let Niall sing, please have him brush his teeth before! This dump smells enough as it is. I swear some days it stinks like five teenage guys are holed up in here.”

He finishes his rant by gently shoving his bandmate out of the way before letting himself fall on the couch. Immediately props up his sweaty feet on the small coffee table. Niall is stuck between barking out his laughter and keeping his lips tight shut. He ends up sputtering all over Louis’ stretched legs, who graces him with a satisfied smile. The blonde decides he is the only one who caught the almost inaudible air quotes around ‘let Niall sing’. Realizes the oldest won’t make any comments on the mic incident.

“Four”, the Doncaster boy resumes, undisturbed. “Hullo to you all, bandmates! Slept well? Anyone dreamt of me? Liam, I’ll take you up on that sandwich offer, now.”  
“You wish.”, Liam puffs.  
“Wanker.”  
“Cunt.”  
“Arsehole.”

Lou smiles through his mates’ playful insults as he balances his hands behind him to rest his head. Niall can’t quell down this feeling that their overly dramatic bandmate somehow originated the whole “letniallsing” campaign. He chooses to focus on the fact that Louis officially announced the beginning of their day together instead.

They actually spend most of their day apart. Louis and Harry hop into the other bus at the next stop, leaving the Irish with a finally very sleepy Zayn and an already slightly anxious Liam. He shrugs it off and turns on the PS4. Sure he can distract Liam with a FIFA tournament… Or not. When Niall joins the other half of band two hours later, the Doncaster lad is still skyping Eleanor. Behind a somewhat closed door. He may or may not gag loudly as he walks near the entry. His attention shifts to Harry, huddled in the corner of the sofa, giggling over his Harry Potter book. The fifth, if Niall correctly identifies the cover from where he stands.

“Mind if I place a call too, Hazza?”  
“Go ahead! I was just planning on going back to the other van. It’s too quiet here. Plus… Liam is probably bored to death.”  
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. He’s probably twee... You need to go there. Now!”, he deadpans.  
‘”My thoughts, exactly, Mister Horan!”

So not letting this one go anytime soon, then. Good. Harry jumps off the couch and hops until he reaches the bus’s metallic door. He’s out before the blonde can even blink. He finally gets enough peace to call his family, exchange some news, views on the tour. Niall makes sure to update them about the lads, too. Sometimes he wonders if his ‘ma has not adopted all four new boys. Even has some time to coo at his nephew on FaceTime. Flips Tommo walking out of the room when he eyebrows him. How can the brunette look judgmental with disheveled hair, Niall wonders.

“Hey! Ni’. Don’t be a bad model for Theo, please.”  
“And who else is gonna show him the good stuff, now that you’re a good ol’ ‘da, heh?”  
“Call me old again, Niall, and I fucking swear to God, I’ll…”  
“And who’s a bad example, now, mister good ol’ ‘da?”, he teases and winks at his bandmate.

The other rolls his eyes. Both Greg and Louis, actually. Niall cackles. The next twenty-four hours pass by in the same haze, all of them getting as much alone time as they can. Doing their own thing. Sleeping, eating, reading, eating again (for Niall), sleeping again (for Zayn) whenever they want. Being their own person. Yet always feeling the four others brushing on the corner of his conscience… of his existence. Encompassing it. It works for them.

Because by the time they arrive to Sheffield for sound checks, they all feel genuinely happy to work together again. If Niall spares a thought or two on the whole mic debacle during their rehearsal, he doesn’t linger on it. Harry takes extra-caution to try and distract him as soon as the blonde’s bubbly energy appears to withdraw. So they move their hips in sync… Make faces to each other during Liam’s solo because that still brings out his insecurities, even four years later and they love to watch him squirm and blush when the stage directory yells: “Liam! You’re perfect. Stop… stopping!”… Almost engage in a water fight but Paul draws the line right after Niall claims Zayn’s water bottle.

“Save the energy for tonight, kids.”

Even Harry is legally an adult now. The curly-haired brunette and Niall stick their tongues at their manager. He sighs. They giggle. Day seized. And it’s a good thing, too. Because the Irish is subconsciously registering all the clues… there’s a storm coming. One that could shake the very foundations of One Direction… But why worry before it hits, right? So he ignores Zayn entering quiet, full-reflective mode. Grabs his crotch extra-lewdly during BTW to drown Liam’s worried states on the edge of his vision. And if he stands a good 10-feet away from Louis the whole time, well, it’s just that it didn’t happen.

These discrepancies are so subtle, so small in the grand scheme of them. When they’re all walking to the interview room for some Q&A, Niall is focusing on remembering to dye his hair after the show. Ponders what could be the best time to ask Lou to do it while they take place on a big couch. Smiles and waves and winks as he brings his hands to his knees, half-supporting his weight on the red velvet armchair.

“Hello, we’re One Direction and it feels damn good to be here, y’all!”, Harry drawls in a poor imitation of the Texan accent.

Niall shots him a goofy grin, shuffles on the sofa. Louis, who sits on his right, drapes his arm around his bandmate’s shoulders. A knot tightens in Niall’s chest. 

“So, let’s talk about the elephant in the room… Niall, Liam, you guys are trending on Twitter? What’s up with that?”

The warm weight is bothering him. He drops his head… Tacit sign he doesn’t really want to take this one or summat. Liam, perched behind him on a bar stool picks it up. Doesn’t listen to a word of his answer. He wants Louis off.

“Ah ah! Well, thanks for sharing, Mrs Horan. Mr Horan, what do you think about that?”

The blonde’s got this. He’s used to having no idea what’s being asked of him. Has difficulties paying attention at the best of times.

“Niam is real.”, he says, smug.

The interviewer drinks his words. The fans cheer. Done and done. Niall squirms. The proximity is getting on his nerves. Maybe literally.

“I don’t know, Neil, I thought we were pretty chummy, too, you know.”, Louis intervenes and wiggles his eyebrow dramatically.

Niall snickers, because he would. But also grabs the older boy’s wrist and moves his arm over his head to finally drop it on the brunette’s lap.

“In your dreams, Lewis.”

Finally got read of it. Had to overplay it. He sighs not so discreetly. Not a pre-arranged sign, but he hopes his bandmates will get a hint… Still feels ill-at-ease. Shrugs to remove the phantom limb sticking to his shirt. He’s annoyed, now. Gets increasingly restless. Liam drags his fingers along his shoulder blade, if not to calm him down, at least to remind him they’re being watched. Closely.  
He blinks. Glances at Louis. Decides he is a little mad at himself for his drunken confession the night before. A bit shy with what he admitted to around the oldest. Resumes smiling and nods enthusiastically at another of Harry’s joke, so Liam knows he’s okay.

Niall manages to complete the interview without another word but the seven he already pronounced. And as soon as he gets to get up, he forgets all about the private space invasion. Driven only by his need to unwind. Almost runs out of the room to get his feet on a ball. Anything he can find to just kick. Steps into the long circular hallway. Ready for the sprint of his life. Barely gets the other leg out when Zayn catches him by the elbow. Fast. Firm. But without hurting.

“Don’t.”, he utters before walking around his younger bandmate and away, slowly disappearing.

And Niall has no idea what he is talking about. But something at the back of his brain gnaws him to shout back: “Too late.” He resumes his quest to play footie instead.

The show ends up being the perfect opposite to the sound checks. Meaning, Niall sticks by Louis’ side, without even realizing it. Laughing so hard during the Doncaster lad’s speech that his cheers mix with those of the fans at the front row. Loud enough for the brunette to throw a puzzled look in his direction, soon turning into a bright smile. Niall has the time of his life. Feels joy cursing through his body. Something else, too. Jumps so high that he even impresses himself. And immediately glances above his shoulder to check and get the older boy’s approval. 

Niall lives in the moment. Relishes in it, more often than not. But there is no afterthought, no second-guessing during shows. No time to overthink. To watch the dynamic of their little family shatter and crash to the ground.

…Right up until they’re singing Little Things again. And Niall catches himself wishing, right now, for Louis to be here with him. Instead of on the other side of the scene, like he is supposed to. Just in case things go awry again. He shivers. I’m a professional, he reassures himself. Finishes his solo like a pro. But he’s pretty much done for at this point.

The blonde gets bitch-slapped by the truth in the middle of girls screaming his name. Finally sees his behavior for what it is. Like… He’d have done a cartwheel if Louis’d asked for it. Still would, if he’s honest. Groans because he’s not sure 100% sure he hasn’t. Niall feels like he just woke up after the worst binge drinking he’s ever taken part in (and that’s saying something). And he has no idea when it started. He reaches to his water bottle to hide his face for a few seconds, regain some sort of composure. His hand trembles. 

Zayn play-pretends like he steals the bottle away, but soon gives it back. Niall looks at him. Wide-eyed. And the raven-hair boy gets it. Instantly gets him. Wraps him in a hug. And the audience is screaming out of their minds because. Nouis is nice but Ziall is cute, too. And it’s been a while since Niall broke out on stage. Actually, you cried yesterday, his brain supplies. Niall swears. Zayn smirks at him. The Irish smirks back. They both can tell they’re still pretending… And for the first time since he didn’t get his name called on National Television, Niall has no idea what to do next.

The situation is probably be worse than it was, back then. Because there are… expectations. Expectations Niall is good at pretending don’t exist. Lucky they like him for what he is. Crazy lucky… Management, first. Or maybe, second, right after the One Direction’s fans. All over the world. All. Over. The. World. And then, there are the boys. Who loved him through the tears and the fights and the drama, and the overall tiredness of having everyone else putting so much pressure on them all the time. Who love him, as long as he doesn’t endanger what they have… Oopsies… Zayn. Zayn is supportive, if the warm look he is casting Niall’s way is anything to go by. His bandmate’s hand lingers on his shoulder. But Zayn, unsurprisingly, is the most laid-back of them all. He trusts. Trusts Niall to figure this out now that he’s been made aware of… of his… Let’s not put labels on it just now, Niall scolds himself.

Louis’ crystalline voice drags him out of his thoughts as he launches into Rock Me pre-chorus. The blonde snaps his head in his… in his… friend’s direction. And gapes. It’s like he really sees his older bandmate for the first time. Like there was a glow about him that Niall’s irises had never been able to capture until now. His brown hair sticks to his forehead, but some of it is pointing up in an improbable and somewhat pretentious manner for such a feathery texture. His hand grips around the mic every time he ends a phrase and let his blue eyes swim across their audience. An endless distance in his look which completely contrasts with the intensity of his posture. Niall takes in the subtle sophistication in his choice of clothes and the wildness pulsing from his exposed tattooed arms. The purity of his voice. His undeniable strength when he sing-shouts.

The words you whispered I will always believe…

Niall takes it all in. The contradictions and wholeness of Louis. They prickle at his skin. Make him shiver all over. And when he inhales, it feels like he hasn’t breathed in minutes.  
When the Irish starts with the chorus, all his bandmates turn to glance at him, surprised by the eagerness in his voice, the want a tad too loud compared to his usual performance. He can’t take his eyes off of the Doncaster lad, though. 

I want you to rock me, rock me, rock me, yeah…

Blue locks with blue. That same twinkle, same fondness Niall saw the night before. 

I want you to rock me, rock me, rock, me, yeah…

That crooked smile promising the best of Heaven and Hell. He’s beautiful, Niall surrenders.

I want you to hit the pedal, heavy metal, show me you care…

He’s screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the Niam feels... I wanted Niall to interact equally with all his bandmates... This just happened.


	4. Chapter 3 - Sweet Deniall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya readers!  
> (Seriously, is anyone still reading this?)
> 
> In any case, here's chapter 3!  
> And in the style of a great TV-show, I'll only say this: "This may hurt". :)  
> We are slowly moving away from the fluffy all-rainbow phase to a more difficult one for Niall. Hope you'll support him (and the story) still.
> 
> One more word: enjoy!  
> It turns out writing down the mindtrack of one who is desperately trying to escape his thoughts is harder than I anticipated...

The concert ends in a daze. Shock. Pure, unaltered shock. He’s a professional. Maybe not the best, probably not even average, assuredly one of the poorest excuse for a singer the world could ever fathom, but… Niall’s a pro. Though he has no recollection of anything once he concluded Rock Me, Niall is fairly certain he has not been off-key or –tempo for a second. He’s also ready to swear on his guitar… MajesticNugget… that he played perfectly. Probably one of his best shows, if you ask him. All because of this cold-inducing, ever-darkening hole of dread growing in the middle of his chest.

“Y’alright, Nialler?”, Zayn asks as soon as the door to their changing room is closed with two guards securing their sanctuary.  
Of course not. He’s fucking crus…Something. On Louis. He shrugs. The Pakistani glances at him warily. They’re not nearly done with this discussion, Niall knows. 

“Woaw, Food.” The blonde instantly plunges his hand in the bowl of M&M’s and starts sorting them by colors. Soon enough, Harry shimmies out of his black skinny-tight jeans and hovers to Niall’s bounty. He sets on eating one of each color, but palms each peanut before picking the ones he actually wants to taste.

“Gross, your hands are sweaty.”, Niall complains.  
“Yeah… it’s the jeans. Who could have thought jumping up and down for two hours would… Oh, nevermind.”

In truth, the blonde is thankful for the diversion. Halfway through his sorting, he’d realized he wouldn’t be able to swallow anything.

“Mate, did you have to twist every question and make it about my wanking habits?”  
“Come on, big Payno! You’re a young healthy handsome man… it’s only natural. And the fans deserve to know.”

In the mirror on top of his dressing table, Niall caught sight of Liam’s bare torso, of his rippling muscles as he discards his light grey V-neck. Lets himself wonder… But no. There’s no way he finds his mate’s arms attractive. He stumbles out of his chair.

“Why, Leeyum, our schedules are so hectic we don’t get to go to the gym. And yet you show off with those big guns of yours… Must come from somewhere, I say”, he taunts, mimicking a jacking motion.  
“Ha! Nialler, you get me. And that’s why, my darlings, we are letting Liam enjoy the privacy of his hotel room tonight. Also, why I bunk with Ni tonight.”

The blonde doesn’t shoot him the brightest of smiles. He doesn’t. Zayn scoffs. And Niall feels his own brow furrow before understanding downs on him. He sports that deer in the headlights look by the time Louis lands his arm around his shoulders.

“But what about me, Lou?”  
“Haz, being your flatmate is great and this is one of the most sacred thing in this world. But you have to share this awesomeness with the band while we tour… You share a room with Zayn, easy.”  
“I meant I’m with you on this, too.”, the curly-haired brunette retorts. “We never hear Liam, not even in the tour bus. That’s not normal.”  
“C-could you guys pl-please st-stop?”, Liam stutters, cheeks redder by the minute. Niall decrees: Still not attractive. Or cute. “It’s because you spend all your idle time rubbing ones off instead of exercising that you…”  
“So you are using the gym as a way out for all your pent-up sexual frustration?”  
“Zayn, not you too…”, the Wolverhampton boy now resorts to begging. And Niall deems it the perfect time to unbutton his own jeans and get changed. Runs and hides to a corner of the room, pretending to look for his clothes. He can’t.  
“Oh…”, Harry continues. “Li-Li, is it because you don’t know how to do it?”. Louis is laughing like crazy. Niall thinks he hears some of Zayn’s chuckles in the mix. But Harry is not done yet: “Niall could teach you. I’m sure he’s quite skilled.”

Please don’t go there. Maybe… Get a grip, Horan. Not that kind of grip. The Irish zips up his red hoodie and finally faces the room again. Liam is standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, his fists clenched, his head dropped low, reduced to a mumbling mess. The blush has spread to the point of his ears.

“Well, he is the loudest.”, Louis adds cheerfully. “What do you think, Nialler? Think you’re on for the job?”

And Nialler is so done.

“Absolutely! I’ll even suck him off if you guys fucking leave it alone already! Lou, I’m sure you don’t mind sleeping alone.”, he shouts, grabs a fumbling Liam by the shoulder and storms out of the room. Hears the stunned “What just happened?” and Zayn full-on laughter before the door is fully closed. Serves them right.  
They slow down a few steps later as Niall quietly guides them to the artists’ entrance. Parking lot. Whatever.

“Thanks”

The Wolverhampton looks sheepish, can’t really hold his gaze. Niall wordlessly removes his hoodie and hands it over, a shy smile of his own plastered on his face. He pulls his mate into a half-hug and resumes their walk, side by side. The blonde only interrupts the silence a couple of minutes later.

“Make sure to wash it before you give it back, though. You kinda smell!”  
“YOU stink.”

They snicker the awkwardness away.

The five all meet again in the hotel lobby, freshly clean and somewhat rested. And, conforming to their tradition when it comes leading, in the good or in the bad, Louis self-appoints himself head of their party.

“Who’s up for clubbing?”, he all but yells, fist up in the air, full of the same vitality that had captivated Niall on stage. The younger bandmate wonders if the Doncaster lad is ever going to mention his outburst in the dressing room. Whether, having been abandoned for Liam in his hotel room, he is even slightly taking the piss. Or… Maybe… If he’d planned it all along. Niall’s eager to put his hands on a drink and to stop thinking. This day has just been impossibly long.

“You told us to meet you at 10. Sharp. I thought clubbing was a given”, Z. replies calmly, all the while securing his cigarettes in his pocket.  
“I still don’t know if you meant us or the time.”, Hazza complains, but there’s a hint of a smile hiding in his dimples.  
“Doesn’t matter, Harry. You always look good…”  
“Aww.”  
“…and you’re always late.”, Louis concludes.  
“I’ll come with you, but I’ll go easy on the drinking tonight”, Liam interjects.  
“Oooh. No “Story of My Life” private gig tonight?”, Zayn smirks.  
“Guys, drop it, seriously! You all hate when the band gangs up on either one of you. So, shall we go?”, Niall cuts in. He really needs that drink now. Doesn’t feel that comfortable around the lads together. Not right now. Not until he has gotten some time to clear his head up. They somehow mistake it for enthusiasm…  
“…Aaaand our little sunshine is back! Nice to see you again!”, Harry says and bumps his nose. Niall giggles despite himself. His emotions are all over the place. Drinks! NOW! His impatience forces some his previous anger to bubble up.  
“Just can’t wait to get back to blow Liam”, he fake-coughs, “ ‘s mind”.  
The puzzled look on Louis’ face is worth all rewards.  
“NI!”, Liam whines. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”  
“Thinking fast, Horan. We like that.”

Louis is always quick to get back on his feet. He winks at the blonde, who is just about to pull his hair out of his head if he is not handed a pint right fucking now. What is wrong with me? He knows he can’t “outsmartmouth” the oldest for shit. But…

“Well, Liam learns faster”, he deadpans, takes Liam’s hand in his and goes straight for the revolving door.  
“Where did the kid get this detestable habit for dramatic exits is beyond me.”, Louis recites, as he follows in his wake. “Hazza-bear, we have to face it. We failed as parents to little Nialler.”  
“I don’t recognize him, Boo-bear”, Harry plays along. “Why is he so angry at us?”  
“I find it all quite interesting”, Zayn whisper-shouts for all of them to hear.

Because Niall is not really angry. But they are not really laughing, either. That hideous storm is taking its sweet time before exploding… and Niall intends to at least be at his third pint before even considering dealing with its aftermath.

Louis and Niall somehow end up sitting next to one another in the car, with Zayn on the brunette’s other side. It’s awkward, to say the least. Niall’s annoyed. With himself. Liam’s reduced to his best mumbling mess. Zayn’s smirk is so obvious Niall considers worrying about his face being stuck in an asymmetric grin. Ha! He would still pull it off! Harry is playing with his phone, takes the tension between them in stride, the same way he handles most of the conflicts, with apparent obliviousness. And Louis… the blonde makes a point of not looking at him. Doesn’t trust himself with his thoughts right this instant. And he refuses to let any open angle for his bandmates to tease him mercilessly with.

So he focuses on the blurry city landscape as they drive towards the club. He likes the building and the overwhelming business of the downtown. So much different from home. The Mullingar kid reckons he’s not the same boyish wannabe who applied for X. Wonders as he often does what his Ma and Da recognize in the son they raised. He immediately regrets this train of thoughts because it brings him right back to his new-found… to him considering, entertaining rather, the idea of. Yeah. His brain sure was not conditioned to ever go again in this kind of direction. And stop right here, Niall. He slips two fingers in his jeans’ pockets, intent to grab his earphones and wash the whole ordeal in music. He restlessly scrolls up and down a few times, and finally settles to Summertime Sadness. It is not usually his first choice. Or the tenth. But he figures he can afford to be melancholic, once every fifty month. Simpler times, and all that. He’s just getting in the mood when he feels something poke at his rib. He feigns indifference to the best of his abilities (in spite of his efforts, he’s still below average in that department). But the finger comes again… Probing between his bones.

“Come on, Nialler. Why so serious?”, a voice on his right croaks.

And the lad really wants to be annoyed, but he’s being tickled again. And Liam quietly chuckles behind Niall’s ear in the background; the caress of the warm air on his neck makes him squirm. And the touching doesn’t stop. Skin gets more sensitive at each stroke. He hides his growing smile under his snapback. Wiggles in the car seat with the next poke. 

“Ni-aaaaall”

The boy suddenly flails to flee from the torture, uncontrolled bubbles of laughter escaping his mouth. 

“Louis, s-stop! Hahahaha! P-please. Ha! Ha!”

But his neighbor continues until the kid’s elbow brutally hits the window. The sharp pain and the loud noise quickly calm them down. The look they share remains one of sheer complicity as they put their breaths back under control.

“Arsehole.”, the blonde banters. He shoves Louis for emphasis.

His mate must have expected, though, because, in one swift movement, he uses his momentum to capture Niall’s head and trap it against his chest. Where he gets a whiff of Louis’ smell. Ginger-mandarin body wash. Clean sweat. Something infinitely soft, typical Louis that resembles the scent of green apple peels. He tenses.

“What is happening in that head of yours, Ni’…”, Louis prompts, voice so low Niall is sure he hears it only because his face is pressed against the oldest’s vocal cords. A hint of eucalyptus from Louis’ gum joins the mix of smells enticing his sense. With the quiet rumbling on the side of his face, Niall’s focus is delicately being teared to shreds.

“M’homesick”, he tries. His go-to excuse for his bad moods.  
“Ha.”. So it didn’t work. The underlying tone of disappointment is unmissable.   
“Do you -, do you ever unexpectedly look up -, down -, at the big picture? And the perspective of everything makes you dizzy? Like -, like you’re in way too deep but never realized because you never thought before of looking, well…, up?”. 

It’s a half-truth, he knows. Vague enough he’s not threatened by it. Too much so that he doesn’t think the Doncaster lad will be able to answer him. Louis surprises him when he replies quietly.

“Of course, mate. Happens to all of us. It is likely harder for you. You are one of this people who lives in the moment, finds joy in every second they spend on this Earth. You are not cold, nor calculating and so you may be thrown off by the turn of events, sometimes. What I mean is, looking back at everything we did, how much our lives have changed in three years, it is perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. We all are here for you, though. Don’t shut us down.”

He’s not sure when exactly but the brunette had started to brush his hair while murmuring, adding to his already mind-numbing cocoon of comfort. Putting his guard down. Leaving him speechless.

“I…”  
“Don’t shut me down, okay, Nialler?”  
“We’re here! Woop! Woop!”, Harry yells and starts kicking Zayn’s seat before him. “Let’s go!”

Louis releases him and climbs down the car. Niall blinks. He hopes his expression doesn’t betray the feeling of loss, slowly eating at him, feeding the impending storm still brewing over all of their heads.

He is the last to get out and to walk into the club, the security guards keeping their distances. It is always a lot easier getting into places than leaving them. He hears the characteristic sound of phone cameras going off somewhere on his left… Yep. Leaving this place will be a doozie. He hasn’t have it in him to wave. It is still early enough that the bar is not too crowded. Just enough so Niall can’t see the alcohol stains on the grey floor. Cement. Really slippery. All the way to his left, Harry is hunched over the bar, sweet-talking… not one, not two but all three bartenders. They are not even all of the same sex. 

The Irish quickly spots the rest of his friends. Far across the room from the entrance, Zayn makes his way through the open-sky area, carefully rolling something that may or may not be tobacco. Louis is on his tracks, with an impressive number of shots on a rack. Looks all the more deviant compared to his small figure. Niall stares at the flickering lights, hidden amongst the climbing vine. It may be chilly, with the breeze slowly animating the wide green leaves. Opposite from Harry, Liam sat in the shadows of the VIP square, his fingertips ghosting over the book he discreetly brought with him. He decides to spend the first part of his night with the Wolverhampton boy, before he ends up completely smashed and unable to maintain the conversation. But first…

“A pint of your strongest. Keep my tab open and ‘em coming! Actually… just give me two for starters. Then you can go back to my friend Harry.”, he adds, with a sheepish smile. 

Niall never intended to be rude. Just really need to cool down. Right. Fucking. Now. The bartender has not even finished to fill the second glass that the blonde has already downed half of his first. He sighs as it clinks back against the scratched wood. Feels the foam sticking on his upper lip. Licks it clean ostentatiously.

“I’m not gay.”, he tells the barkeep whose gaze is burning him slowly.  
He hands him his credit card. I’m not gay. I’m not. Never have been.  
“Tab’s open. You don’t look like you are.”  
“Thanks. What does that mean? Do you mind pouring another one?”  
“Huh huh. You’re right, it doesn’t mean anything. It was stupid of me. Another pint, coming right up!”  
“Ta.”

Niall gulps down the rest of his beer, swipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“You don’t look like you are, either.”  
“Are what?”

The barman smirks as he leans closer to the tap. Niall wants to punch him. There may be a hint of something else, too.

“G-gay?”, he quips. Hates himself for sounding so awkward.  
“I swing both ways”, the other shrugs.

The Irish attacks his second pint to avoid studying him. He has dark brown hair, lighter than Zayn’s, a lean frame and very thin lips that give a certain coldness to his beauty.

“I’m straight.”  
“So you said.”  
“Because I am.”  
“Yes.”

Niall aggressively grabs the offending half-empty mug again, goes for it bottoms up… forfeits somewhere in the middle; even he can’t handle his booze that well. I’m not. Gay. But then… That’s just not who he is. Not who he ever envisioned being. The warm dizziness settles in his bones; makes his shoulder blades roll under his skin.

“But… if you weren’t… I end my shift at 2.”  
“I want kids. A family. Two cars. The whole white… white picket fence. You know?”, Niall explains to the wall, in lieu of answering.  
“Me too”, the man replies amiably. “Sounds a bit of a serious topic for a first encounter, but why not?”  
“How about…”, the blonde trails off as he leans on the bar, “… you get me a third one and get the fuck out of my space?”

Sits back and empties the pint, a satisfied way-more-confident-than-he-truly-feels grin in place.

“Ru-ude!”, the barman sing-songs in a annoyingly poor, irritatingly overplayed imitation of Louis’ verve. “And technically, it’s the fourth one. If I cared, I would reconsider serving it you”, he sasses as he walks over to the tap.

And well, making Niall think about the brunette was a bad bad move.

“Well, technically, you’re not my goddamn mother. I said: LEAVE!”, he snarls.

The bartender slams the glass on the bar and steps away. By the time the singer joins and sits next to Liam, he’s madly trashed.


	5. Chapter 4 - Digging deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi readers!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait... (I really try to maintain that weekly update rate, I swear).  
> But, hum... See, work became crazy hectic.  
> And also. It was really hard to get that chapter out. Not entirely happy with it, but writing Niall battling with himself from the inside hurt too much, ... ya know?  
> Oh, and spoiler: It gets worse. (I am beyong saving, when it comes to Angst...)
> 
> Ha! Let me know if you feel like the story doesn't go anywhere. I really hate nothing more than stories with more and more chapters and nothing really moving forward. I am trying to make this whole story a process for Niall (and Louis, ultimately). But definitely hit me up if you think otherwise.
> 
> Question before I let you read (and hopefully enjoy): how does one get/become a beta around here? Do you just politely ask to the AO3 Gods to grant you a friend?
> 
> See you next week (I promise I'll be good)!  
> Shatteeran

Niall doesn’t apologize for the inhuman sound he lets out when he blinks his eyes open. Pounding. Cramps. And the leftover dizziness overloads his senses. He groans a second time, shuts his eyes and snuggles against the warmth coming from his side. Force of habit, he wraps his arm against the body lying next to him. A throaty chuckle drags him out of his daze. Definitely sounds too low to be a girl’s voice. The hangover boy trails his arm up the other’s chest.

“Looking for something, Nialler?”, the same warm smile-y voice asks.

Liam. _Shit._ He must have felt his bandmate tensing up because he quickly soothes him.

“Hey, hey. No worries, mate. I like to cuddle in the mornings as much as the next fellow. It doesn’t feel like cheating when it’s with one of you guys, so… you’re welcome. Don’t puke on me, though.”

Niall can’t help but grin against his friend’s shoulder at his joke. He melts against Liam’s muscular side, ignores the churning in his stomach. Refuses to put a name on his craving. A flash of pain courses through his brain as he is hit with several pictures from the night before. Louis’ brown mop of hair and lean figure as he walks away towards the lights flickering in the breeze. Two empty glasses on the counter and a half-empty third one closer; so close he can see the bubbles popping. A shit-eating grin right in the middle of the most annoying face ever. A teasing pose. Inviting… All his limbs suddenly loosen. _I don’t want to touch anymore. But there will be questions if I move and…_

“So, what happened last night?”

The tone is casual, but the question is far too simple to be. Straightforward is just not Liam’s way. Niall puts as much distance between himself and the subtle interrogatory he knows he is about to suffer through. Uses the opportunity to slowly sit on the bed, away from his bandmate, seemingly to hold his inquisitive look.

“What do you mean?”  
“Of course, you don’t remember. You were properly pissed.”  
“Wasn’t.”  
“Sure, you weren’t.”

Liam agrees amiably. The Irish knows he’s being mocked but the corner of Liam’s eyes crinkle. It is obvious there is nothing but fondness behind the attitude. The convict relaxes. _Terrible mistake._

“You came and sat by my side. You tried to ask me about my book, I think, but you left halfway through one of my sentences not ten minutes later.”

Niall’s eyes go as round as … as … Leave him alone, he’s hung over. And the wanker he calls a friend snickers and continues:

“It’s okay, Nialler. You came back to the counter, I thought to order, but you stayed there a long time…”

Liam slows down and he glances towards his phone. Once. Twice. Like he expects it to ring anytime now.

“After twenty minutes, I got up to find you because there was not that many people yet… It was taking a bit too long… I was worried, you see. For you. And…”

Niall’s tummy seriously hurts now. He reckons it has nothing to do with the alcohol destroying his intestinal flora. The brunet glances at his phone for the third time. But no bell will save them for this discussion.

“And?”, Niall pushes because he guesses he can be merciful. _It’s my mess, after all._  
“I was on my way towards you. And you seemed to be having an argument, like, you were mad or summat. You punched him. Right on the nose. He bled everywhere.”

Niall eyes his discarded shirt on the floor but cannot spot any red stain in the relative darkness of their hotel room. Clutches the cover, feels the phantom pain on his knuckles. _Oh._ So that’s the big story. Nothing to worry about. He doesn’t usually get into fights, but it is not the first time it happens either. He sighs in relief. That would be the second of the terrible mistakes he would make all day long.

“T’was that bartender, ain’t it?”  
“Yes! Memories are coming back?”, Liam wonders, obviously happy with the blonde’s reaction.  
“Yep. I punched him alright. That fucking faggot just wouldn’t leave him alone. Had to teach him the hard way.”, he explains and attempts to cackle. Quickly stops.

The headache makes the room spin for a few seconds, but it is nothing compared to the hollow icy feeling which spreads through him when the words register. When his surroundings get into focus again, Liam’s expression finishes him off. Not disappointment. Nor surprise. Not completely shock, either. _Not 100%._ There’s a hint of disgust, there. A lack of understanding, a fault wedging between them Liam seems to never want to cross. Of course, his damn phone rings now. But neither boy moves. Seven. Awfully. Long. Rings. Niall counts, praying internally for them to stop as the sound drills through his brain.

And then infinite silence. He kind of wishes the rings would be back. The Wolverhampton boy whispers next, all trace of amusement gone. Niall’s fingers twist violently in the covers. The dread oozes between his shoulder blades, pools at the bottom of his back. _Something is seriously wrong._ His blue eyes cast to his lap, the young man imagines his lips turning blue with the cold which invited itself in his bones.

“You hit him because he hit on you?”

The pun wouldn’t be funny, even if they couldn’t hear the punches behind every word.

“I hit him because he wouldn’t take my “no”s for an answer”, Niall whispers back.  
“Did you? Didn’t he?”

A ruffling sound. Liam half-sits on the bed, his back turned, as he had planned on getting up but got interrupted. His phone buzzes again. They wait it out with poise, this time. Storm clouds are finally breaking; there’s no point in running from it. Niall feels himself starting to tremble, and it’s a kind of anguish he has never experienced. Not with excitement and the prospect of sexual release in the near future, not with utter coldness and God knows Ireland elements are sometimes in fury, not with anger and tries to hold it all in. It’s pure fear that the next word, no matter who it comes from, is going to break him.

“Leemo, I don’t have a problem with gay people”, he states, out loud, attempting to breathe some strength in the words.   
“You just don’t want to have anything to do with them.”  
‘Yes!”

_No._ Too late. His mind crossed the finish line a second too late. Tongue won. And Liam stands up. _Please don’t leave me here all alone with… me._ Niall’s eyes fills with tears he hasn’t realized were about to spill. Liam’s voice is watery when he replies. The blonde’s fists are hurting with how much he clutches the cover.

“Yes…”, Liam repeats matter-of-factly, as if he is trying to grasp an extremely abstract and intricate concept.

The word of acceptance, the tone of rejection, finally does it. Niall and all hell breaks loose.

“Are you really going to pretend you are so above me?”, he taunts. “Come on, Liam. There’s being okay with the idea. And there’s having that idea shoving teasing smiles and rolling hips right in front of your face. You have no idea…”  
“You know, some of the fans I follow are actually openly gay dudes”, his bandmate replies, but emotion has yet to reinvest his voice.

Niall still can’t see his eyes. Faceless judging, it is. The shivers are out of control. _Feels like burning._ How did the peaceful morning transform to this endless, irreparable torture so quick?

“I-I didn’t know”, he sobs. Niall’s so mad about Liam’s hypocrisies, but sees how pointless it is to call him on it. He’s the one who has to justify his words, after all. The Wolverhampton’s phone vibrates with a text.  
“I guess it can be said about things about both of us”, Liam says, glancing at the phone on the night table. “The others are waiting for us at breakfast”.  
“Are you really not going to look at me?”

Liam finally stands up. Turns back to face Niall. There’s nothing but cold curiosity in his stare.

“Are you coming?”, he asks, and Niall sees red again. Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know anything. Niall has been there for Liam thick and thin, defended him just the day before and Liam will just… push him away when he needs him most? To discuss… whatever this is. See it through. _Be there for him._

“So, that’s it? One nameless dude and I’m not worth your time anymore?”, he spits, his Irish accent thicker with the pain and the hungover.

Basically the worst he’s ever felt. Physically and emotionally.

“Why don’t you just say it, Nialler?” The words ring like a slap in his face. “ _One nameless gay_ , sorry fag, and I’m not worth your time anymore.”  
“What?”  
“I’m bi”, Liam states, face completely blank. “Or could have been, if things had been different. It’s a part of me I never let myself explore. I chose music. And it is preferable to be 100% straight in our line of business because of some narrow-minded people. I chose the band. I just never thought you’d be one of them.”

The Wolverhampton boy exits the hotel room without another word. Niall finally lets out a dry sob. He’s alone. And in the next few weeks, he is going to feel more alone than he has ever been. But when he shows up in the hotel lobby, the young man is composed. Reasonably, for a kid with a badass hungover, he is. It is useless anyway, since most of the team is gone. Louis is idly munching on his cereals while peering at his iPhone. His shirt is backwards and his hair a mess. Highly probable terrible breath, too. The blonde discards the strange thought as he pulls the chair towards him and plops down with the grace of an asthmatic walrus.

“Nialler, my man! You made it”, the Doncaster boy with as much enthusiasm as he can muster through his own migraine. “I planned the perfect recovery day for us.”  
“Did you now?”, Niall answers, with equally feeble sarcasm.

They make a right pair of fools. A demon in the back of Niall’s mind happens to very much like the idea. Feels warm for the first time since Liam spoke this morning. He orders OJ and, of course, a full continental breakfast and angrily bites his lip. No way being assorted to Louis will be responsible for his change of moods…

“I did. I mean, come on, it’s me. Of course, I did. So gulp down your food like you usually do, run back upstairs to get a shower, and we meet back here in… twenty-seven minutes. We, my friend, are going to meet the local footie team. And train with them.”  
“We are?”, Niall asks, incredulous. “When did you even…?”  
“Met some of the team members at the bar yesterday. Some had daughters or sisters who knew us… so I agreed to meet their families after training in exchange. Well, after their second training, actually. It is too late to join them for their first.”

For a couple of seconds, Niall wants to scream of excitement. But, as thankful as he is for Louis’ feat, he cannot help to compare it to his own very bad use of his time at the bar. Again, he feels his natural positive energy slowly draining out of his body. Louis is far too focused on finishing his bowl of cereals to notice. A waiter brings a full plate of sausages, cheeses, hams, fruits, toasts and of course, bacon. But hunger has left him. There is nothing inside him to feed the void. Actually, the more his mind goes back to Liam, the more his stomach tightens and seems to wrap around itself.

They argued before. _The debacle of Christmas._ Or that one time the blonde cried on stage and Liam deemed it unprofessional. Jerk. Anger doesn’t fill the void either. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he startles when Louis’s chair rattles against the carpet. And how the brunet even manages to rattle it on a soft floor does not even make sense.

“Make sure you grab a change of clothes, yeah? Gotta look good for our fans.”

Niall doesn’t grace the comment with an answer. He has yet to touch his food. But Louis is too caught up in his impatience to notice. The brunet almost leaves the room running and Niall, completely alone and lost for the second time since that faithful night.

Yeah. The fans. Nothing matters more after all.

They both catch some shut eye on the way to the stadium. Sweet oblivion. The reprieve continues as they immediately join the team for sprint drills. Barely enough time to greet the team from afar. Wave exaggeratedly to the few people with smartphones up in the bleachers. And right in the action, where nobody talks. No damaging words, no hurtful looks, awkward stances. Just controlled breathing. In and out. The sweet burn of muscles who are no longer use to the effort. Up and around. May be somewhat dangerous for his bummed knee, Niall’s brain supplies between two races. Doesn’t matter at this point. Maybe physical pain will get him out of his head, fucking shut the all-consuming void.

It works, to a certain extent. Some of the fog inside his head clears up. It’s like he sees with more precisions since he woke up. Had forgotten what is was to actually watch and distinguish anything through the haze and shock. He gives up before his bandmate, though. Finds some unused spot on the grass to lie down and observe the clouds roll by. He is spent. The good kind. So unlike this terrible feeling of waking up after a party. His fights with the bartender, with Liam, try to get at him again. But the instinctual part of him still drives his body, his thoughts. He lives in the now. _Peaceful._

Louis joins him a couple minutes or hours later. Imitates his position on the ground. They tacitly decided they would wait until the training was over for the team before meeting their fans. Limiting the gushing and whooping to a minimum during the training only seemed like the polite thing to do. Even if they are not trained enough for the exhaustive session.

“It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen you in days, me thinks”, Louis wheezes, still catching his breath.   
“It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt”, Niall agrees.   
“So, are you going to tell me what’s up?”  
“Did Liam…”, the Irish startles.  
“Relax, Nialler.” Lou grabs his wrist, stops him from getting up. Starts massaging his palm with his thumb. And the blonde suddenly wants nothing more than to hug him, to bury his head in the crook of his mate’s shoulder. _Weird. Also: gross._ He is not sure he would not have done it if it had not been for all this sweat. “Liam did not say anything. He just came to breakfast really tense, with his deer in headlights look. And without you. I just added two and two.”

How could Niall even doubt Liam’s friendship? He clearly doesn’t deserve him. And of course, the oldest of the band would notice. That’s what he does. His loudness diverts the other’s attention, but his remains sharp, concentrated on keeping the four others safe and happy. That’s how Niall think Louis functions at least…

“I am not talking about your school girls’ quarrel, though. That’s between you two and thus for you two to figure out and for me to never ask a question except: “So you guys made up?” when I see you crying and professing your undying love to each other”, Louis rants. And Niall chuckles.

Louis rants and Niall chuckles. And the blonde is okay with the world again. For now. Until his friend’s next words…

“I am talking about the last two or three days, mate. You’ve been really tense, intense… Mad, if you allow me to say. It’s not all about Liam, is it? Please say it isn’t. It’s never a good time to feed his gigantic ego.”

Louis removes his hand, then. Like he wants to give Niall some space. A breather. A chance to compose himself while he comes clean. But the blonde doesn’t want space. Actually, he is really content with his body being slightly less reactive than usual. Or he would be hugging Lou for dear life. He turns his head to observe his bandmate. Awestruck with the soft-sharp mix of his features. The eerie light his blue eyes take, reflecting the sky and clouds above. Lips. Scratch hugging. He wants nothing more than to taste them this instant. Wants. Wants…

He can’t lie to Louis. Never could, nor can he hide his glow around him.

“I’m just figuring some stuff out. I don’t… Sometimes it’s just hard to. You know.”

Eloquent. To say the least. Niall isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Obviously. But he is beating new records of sounding stupid.

“This about the singing still?”, Louis asks, still making a point of not staring at Niall too directly. Like eye contact could be interpreted as an aggression of sorts.  
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

As honest as he can be for now. Despite of having resolved nothing, of having barely said anything, Niall feels a bit better. Physical exertion with a side of Louis always work. His tummy growls. Oh! And he could use some of this food now. Louis finally returns his gaze, a ghost of a smirk playing with his lips. Niall holds on to the grass to keep himself for moving…

“I’d offer a hug but we both need a shower”, he sniffs exaggeratedly, “well, you more than me, but still. Moreover, I am not quite certain our little fan club over there would handle well all the PDA.”

The Irish still doesn’t move. A hug is the next best thing. He could do with a hug. Can’t show how much a hug sounds like a great idea right now. Hugging Louis is all he can think about. But since the lad has killed the idea as soon as he has uttered it, Niall reckons there is probably no chance for it. He knows he is supposed to have an hilarious come back to save the day, but his mind is still entirely full of the potentiality of hugging and not ready to give up the fantasy for actual words just yet. In his mind, Lou mutters

“Screw it!”

And his arm rolls around Niall’s upper body until the blonde’s head is safe and snug against his pectoral. His hand ending up splayed out on Niall’s back for comfort. In his mind, it all comes back up, then. Tears of despair and shock, up on stage, with Zayn. Tears of fear and rage, last night, in the bar. Tears of shame and guilt, with Liam, back in the hotel. Bittersweet tears of relief and want… In his mind, for the first time in days, in the crook of a soothingly shushing Louis, Niall lets himself cry.


End file.
